


Sketches

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: A teeny bit of angst, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, No getting away from that, They both have issues after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: A lot of the older people watch him with no small amount of distrust, and Tomas can hardly blame them.Marcus looks like bad news, most days. He dresses head to toe in black, with a battered old hat on his head. His fingers are stained with ink and nicotine, and he always looks so tired that Tomas worries he might just keel over.He’s also, at least in Tomas’ opinion, devastatingly handsome.





	Sketches

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fandom I have ever shared with my BFF, and she loves her a coffee shop AU. So here it is.

“Excuse me, sir? You can’t bring that in here.”

The man doesn’t seem to realise that Tomas is speaking to him, and raises a confused eyebrow when Tomas politely waves at him from behind the counter.

“Can’t bring wh- oh.”

The man turns to see the cat that has been almost successful in following him through the door of the café.

“She’s not with me,” he grins, his voice thick with a British accent. “Hold on.”

He bends down and strokes the cat’s head, before gently easing her out of the door. The cat shakes herself and stalks away, and Tomas knows it isn’t the last he will see of her. He is waging several small wars already with the neighbourhood strays, and the cats are generally winning. 

The man comes to the register and orders a pot of tea – of course – before sauntering off to the table at the window. It is several hours before he leaves, and when he does, he shoots Tomas a smile.

**

Tomas’ coffee shop is small, but getting busier every day. He picked the right part of Chicago to open up, and he thanks God for that small fortune. 

He isn’t quite so thankful that one of his two employees is not particularly reliable, and he’s working even more hours than he was at his old job.

Then again, if the old man had been working his shift on that Monday afternoon, Tomas wouldn’t have seen the Cat-Man again.

Silver linings and all that.

“Your little friend didn’t follow you today?” he asks, and Cat-Man shakes his head. 

“I just have that effect, I guess.”

**

“I’m Marcus, by the way. If this was a Starbucks, you’d know that by now.”

“Tomas.”

“Oh – not the eponymous Luis then?”

“That’s my nephew. I promised to name it after him, when I eventually got up and running.”

“Well, Tomas. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And you – Marcus.”

**

Most of Tomas’ customers are wealthy people from the surrounding suburb, who come in on the way to work in the city. During the day though, it tends to be older people and the kids who come in for hot chocolate on the way home from school. Marcus stands out in that crowd, and he would even if he didn’t look like he does. 

As it is, a lot of the older people watch him with no small amount of distrust, and Tomas can hardly blame them.

Marcus looks like bad news, most days. He dresses head to toe in black, with a battered old hat on his head. His fingers are stained with ink and nicotine, and he always looks so tired that Tomas worries he might just keel over.

He’s also, at least in Tomas’ opinion, devastatingly handsome. 

“You blush when he speaks to you,” says Casey, his reliable employee, one rainy afternoon. “Did you know that?”

“I do not,” Tomas says, trying very hard not to watch Marcus walk away from the counter.

“Sure,” she chuckles, and turns to put a grilled cheese in the machine. “I’m not blind, you know.”

Tomas doesn’t reply. Casey is seventeen and too smart for her own good, and if he didn’t like the kid so much, he would regret ever hiring her at all. 

For the rest of the afternoon, he doesn’t look at Marcus. Not even when he can feel those hazel eyes on him. 

**

It is two months before he is brave enough. Two months of watching and being watched in return. He’s never been like this before, so unsure. He didn’t realise how much he’d screwed up with Jessica.

When he hesitates, Casey forces him out from behind the counter, and he goes to Marcus’ side with his own cup of coffee clutched in his hands. 

Marcus is staring out of the window, humming, a pencil balanced between his fingers. He must sense rather than see Tomas’ approach, because he turns with a grin. 

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Tomas says, feeling terribly exposed even in his own damn shop. “Do you mind if I –”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Marcus says, and although his voice is warm, he is guarded. Tomas knows the signs after all. He saw it a lot when he was counselling. He’s done it a lot himself, too.

He slips into the other seat and tries to loosen his grip on his mug- even he can see that his white knuckles must be a stark contrast to his face, which he can feel burning. 

Marcus kindly doesn’t point it out. 

“Tell me about this place,” he says, not the opener that Tomas was expecting, and for a moment he is tongue-tied. But Marcus just smiles and sips at his coffee, and cocks his head, and before he knows it, Tomas is talking. 

He keeps half an eye on Casey but she doesn’t need him, and so he stays. They talk, because Marcus is an artist, and he is British, and he came to Chicago in the same way that Tomas did – wandering, searching, yearning for a home. 

**

The next day, Tomas catches a glance of the sketchbook as he is clearing a table, and is surprised to see his own face looking back at him. 

**

Tomas is too quiet at dinner, and Olivia knows. 

He puts Luis to bed and when he joins her on the couch, she is waiting. 

“Okay, out with it.”

“With what?”

“Who is it? You were like this with her. Mooning and moping and-”

Tomas holds up his hands. He can’t bear to think about Jessica, not now. 

“It’s nothing. Not really. I’ve only really talked to him once.”

Olivia settles back, a hand on his. Even with all their years of separation, she’s always known him better than he has known himself.

“He’s a customer. An artist. I think he likes me, but I’m not sure. I don’t know him well enough to make the call.”

“But you like him?”

She’s so matter of fact, and he is so grateful for her that he smiles, and now she will think he is smiling about Marcus. 

“If you like him, you should take him out for dinner,” she carries on. 

“Maybe,” he says, as though he hasn’t already imagined it a dozen times. 

“Not maybe. If you never ask, you’ll never know. You know that better than anyone.”

**

Marcus is at his usual table when Luis comes in after school, and Tomas sets the boy up at a table by the counter where he can keep an eye on him. Luis is absorbed in his English homework when Marcus comes to order his second drink.

“Your nephew?”

“Yeah. My sister has a new shift pattern. He will be here a lot.”

“He’s cute,” Marcus grins. “Must be a family trait.”

Tomas ducks his head and makes it through the transaction, then tries a smile before Marcus walks away. Getting braver by the day. At this rate, he thinks, he might manage to ask the man out in a couple of years or so. 

Later, he comes out of the kitchen to see Luis’ table is empty. He glances around, heart racing, then breathes when he sees Luis sat with Marcus. 

“I hope you’re not making a nuisance of yourself,” he says, putting a hand on Luis’ shoulder. The boy shakes his head, and Marcus does the same. 

“We were having a very nice conversation. I’ve never met such an intelligent young man.”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Tomas feels a flicker of pride. 

Which is, unfortunately, quickly doused. 

“I told Marcus that you want to take him for dinner,” Luis says, so matter of fact. “I heard you telling Mummy.”

Tomas is speechless. His hand tightens on Luis’ shoulder and he tries to loosen it, and he’s bright red, and Luis is looking up at him with such trust and Marcus – well, he’s still here. 

“I’d be delighted, by the way,” Marcus says, when Tomas can’t put a single one of those thoughts into words. 

**

They go for pizza, and Marcus wears a blue shirt instead of black, and they talk about growing up as exiles from their families. 

Tomas has never met another person who understands him like Marcus does. The man seems to voice every thought that Tomas has before he can even find the words. 

By the end of the night, Marcus is holding his hand across the table, and when they part, Marcus brushes the back of his hand across Tomas’ cheek. 

**

Marcus’ flat is in a bit of a state, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, and so Tomas decides it won’t bother him either. Besides, the second date is hardly the time to make such personal observations. 

Marcus puts on a CD and they sit on the couch, drinking beer and then drinking wine. He lets Tomas look through some of his sketchbooks, including the one with Tomas’ own face on the pages, and he isn’t embarrassed.

“Can you blame me?” he asks, his voice a little slurred from the drink. “You’re gorgeous, Tomas.”

“Flatterer.”

“I mean it.”

Tomas snorts through his nose and closes the book. Marcus is staring at him, one hand nursing at his wine glass and the other supporting his head. 

“You’ve been driving me mad,” Marcus rasps. “I thought I was imagining it for so long. The looks you’d give me. Cos then you’d back off and I didn’t know what to think. I can hardly believe you’re here.”

It isn’t the sort of thing that Marcus says, and the atmosphere shifts around them. The singer on the CD croons an old love song, and the room is hotter than it was before, and Tomas can hardly breathe. 

So he doesn’t. 

He shifts on the couch, grabs Marcus’ shirt in his fist and he kisses him, because he doesn’t know what else to do and this at least is something. He has to do something. 

Marcus makes a small sound in his throat that might be surprise, and then his own hands are moving, and he pulls Tomas closer. His mouth is hot, and his stubble scratches at Tomas’ lips, but he tastes of wine, and his hands are strong. Tomas is brave, or tries to be. He has demons to exorcise, and he can’t do that with Marcus unless he is brave, and he won’t do anything to hurt this man. That’s all he knows for sure. 

So he kisses him like he might not be here tomorrow, and when they break apart, Marcus is gasping.

“Stay with me. Please, Tomas.”

Tomas does not need to speak. He stands instead, and takes Marcus’ hand, and he isn’t sure that he will ever let it go.


End file.
